


something old, something new

by imagymnasia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, and loving more than one person, no specified route, on getting together, this is mostly Byleth figuring out his feelings and blindsiding Seteth in the process
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29071104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagymnasia/pseuds/imagymnasia
Summary: When Byleth entered Seteth's office that night, Seteth had already prepared a pot of tea and a small platter of cheese sandwiches. Byleth followed him into the office, his eyes flitting over the arrangement and devouring every detail with carefully-masked glee.“Expecting me?”Seteth’s answer was an amused hmph . He took his usual place behind his desk and gestured to the empty chair beside him, lips curled just enough to be called a smile. Byleth’s breath caught, the steady rhythm of his lungs stumbling over that single hint of fondness.“As if you have not come to my office every night for the past moon,” said Seteth.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Kudos: 18
Collections: Courage My Love: A Setleth Zine





	something old, something new

**Author's Note:**

> For _Courage, My Love: A Setleth Zine._

When Byleth had first become a professor at Garreg Mach’s Officers Academy, he’d been unaware how much paperwork came with the job. As a man who preferred actions to words, he felt more comfortable with practical instruction than with lectures, and often put off grading the written coursework he was required to assign his students. In fact, the concept of  _ paperwork _ had been wholly foreign to him, at first, and it was only after he had fallen terribly behind that Seteth had offered his assistance to get Byleth back on track.

_ For the students’ sake _ , he had said, the man’s lips drawn tight with disapproval.

They had not known each other well, then. Perhaps they still did not, now, but the late nights had become routine. Byleth found himself looking forward to the cramped hours in Seteth’s office, hunched over their work on opposite sides of his large desk, fighting over workspace and taking turns  _ tsk _ ing over the sorry excuses for homework Byleth’s students sometimes turned in. Every night, Byleth would show up with a stack of papers in his arms, and Seteth would sigh and wave him into the office, refilling the oil lamp on his desk and offering Byleth a chair.

These days he almost never needed Seteth’s assistance, but Byleth was a creature of habit. So he kept coming. Seteth, he had discovered, often worked into the long hours of night, and having the company seemed to do them both good.

He couldn’t say when their work sessions had gone from companionable co-working to… well, something else entirely.

It had been a gradual change. Byleth’s seat migrated from the opposite side of the desk to directly beside Seteth’s over the course of a week, and he had begun to notice things about the archbishop’s assistant that he hadn’t before: the perplexed  _ hm _ when Seteth found himself stuck; the way he rolled his quill between his slender fingers as he thought; how his hand flew across the page with the same self-assured carriage of Seteth’s speaking voice, determined and unyielding, when an idea truly took hold.

And Seteth seemed to notice him, too. It pleased Byleth when their eyes met over their work; when the other man leaned back with a roll of his shoulders to survey the fruits of his labor and his eyes fell on Byleth instead. He enjoyed their quiet, intermittent conversation, the occasional smile or word of praise as Byleth became a more comfortable and confident teacher. 

He was growing  _ fond  _ of Seteth, in much the same way that his students had ingratiated themselves to him. Yet this felt different, and in a way he didn't quite understand. Byleth knew next to nothing about physical affection, aside from the hair ruffles and infrequent one-armed hugs from his father. Jeralt had never been very forthcoming with his own emotions and thus was not an effective frame of reference. All Byleth knew was that he wanted to be close to Seteth in a way that he did not with any other person, and it perplexed him. 

_ Perplexed  _ was, perhaps, a mild term.  _ Drove him mad _ might be more accurate— like an itch beneath his skin, a demon that possessed him when the other man came around. It made him want things with a strange sort of hunger, made him feel flighty and distracted when he was near Seteth, as if another being was in control of his body and not himself. He wanted to  _ know  _ Seteth— all his secrets, his desires, his dreams. He longed to touch his hair, wondered if his beard was as soft as those tresses looked, ate up the sight of his rare smiles. Then, as soon as Seteth left, Byleth was himself again. It left him deflated and feeling oddly incomplete without the other man’s presence. 

It was in those moments of lonesome clarity that Byleth considered there might be something wrong with him, after all. 

When Byleth entered Seteth's office that night, Seteth had already prepared a pot of tea and a small platter of cheese sandwiches. Byleth followed him into the office, his eyes flitting over the arrangement and devouring every detail with carefully-masked glee.

“Expecting me?”

Seteth’s answer was an amused  _ hmph _ . He took his usual place behind his desk and gestured to the empty chair beside him, lips curled just enough to be called a smile. Byleth’s breath caught, the steady rhythm of his lungs stumbling over that single hint of fondness.

“As if you have not come to my office every night for the past moon,” said Seteth. “If you must know, Flayn thought we might be in need of a snack to get us through the evening’s work.”

Byleth took his seat and reached for the sandwiches, pulling the entire tray toward himself with eagerness. He knew Flayn had deep respect for her brother; she didn’t approve of his workaholic tendencies, but as she had no real power to stop him she had to find other ways to look after him. Apparently, those methods sometimes included late night snacks.

Byleth hummed appreciatively, his mouth already stuffed full. With an audible swallow, he managed, “That was kind of her.”

“Indeed.” Seteth poured them both a cup of tea— ginger, by the smell— and picked up his quill. “Shall we?”

They fell into companionable silence, Seteth’s quill scratching diligently across the page the only sound. Byleth reached for another sandwich, stuffed it in his mouth, and set to work.

Three paragraphs into Lorenz’s treatise on the efficacy of cavalry units for long-term engagements, Byleth’s mind started to wander. That wasn’t unusual in and of itself, especially where the young nobleman’s writing was concerned. But after he switched to Marianne’s essay (and then Lysithea’s, and then Claude’s) and he  _ still  _ couldn’t concentrate, he knew it was going to be a long night. Byleth huffed and reached for another sandwich. Maybe more brain-fuel would help.

“Something the matter?”

He looked up to find Seteth staring, hand poised with his own quill resting on the lip of his inkwell. The man looked as cool as ever, a single brow raised, but Byleth knew it was concern that pushed him to ask.

“I can’t concentrate,” Byleth answered. It never occurred to him to lie— not in the face of those tempered fluorite eyes. “The words are all running together, and I can’t make sense of them.”

“That may be due to your students’ poor penmanship,” Seteth said with a snort, but he was smiling slightly when he reached for the topmost essay. “Here, let me see.”

He reached for the paper. His fingers, strong, graceful, long-admired, collided with Byleth’s; the papers fell to the floor as Seteth stammered an apology, but Byleth made no move to pick them up. Instead, he stared at the older man, head cocked just-so as he studied Seteth’s face.

When was the last time he’d seen Seteth flustered? 

“Oh! F-forgive me, Byleth, I...”

Seteth’s lips were moving, he was  _ speaking, _ Byleth should have been paying attention but his mind was sniper-focused on the planes of his face, the pink of his cheeks in the lamplight, the keen eyes averted in embarrassment. His expression shifted, and it pulled Byleth back to the present.

"...What are you staring at?”

“You.”

The answer came so readily that Byleth wondered, for a moment, how long his mind had been waiting to proclaim it. Seteth flushed harder and leaned back.

“E-excuse me?”

“I was staring at you. I  _ like  _ looking at you,” he added, at the gentle, unspoken prompting of Sothis. Perhaps it had not been the right thing to say, after all, because Seteth frowned, and that made Byleth’s chest ache. “I’m sorry,” he said, dropping his gaze, “I know I stare a lot. Most people don’t like it. I didn’t mean to—”

“No.” Byleth lifted his head. When he met Seteth’s eyes, they were softer, if still wary. “No, Byleth. It’s alright. I am… I am flattered.” Seteth smiled. “Even if it is a bit... forward.”

“Oh.” Byleth cocked his head again. Something like pleasure coursed through him, and in response one corner of his mouth ticked upward. He leaned closer. “Then I’ll keep doing it.”

“I do not think…” Seteth trailed off, watching as Byleth narrowed the distance between them. His eyes dropped to Byleth’s lips, then widened the smallest fraction. “You’re  _ smiling _ .”

“Also you,” said Byleth. “I think.”

Something in Seteth’s face changed, then; like flint on stone, there was a new spark in his eyes, an intensity that had not been there before. Byleth got the impression he had come to some decision, for the awkward tension between them was diminished. It was still there, but now no more than a shadow.

“Indeed?”

Byleth remained silent. Did Seteth expect an answer? He made no move to close the gap, but neither did he pull away; encouraged, Byleth inched closer.

“Seteth,” he said. Was he asking permission? Offering up a prayer? He leaned further, closed his eyes, reached for him to draw them close. “Seteth...” 

“Byleth, stop.” The phrase was whispered, rasping, anguished. Byleth’s eyes snapped open at the sound of it; Seteth met his eyes briefly before flicking away. “I… I am sorry. I do not think I can do this.”

Byleth paused, his hand hovering in the air with Seteth’s hushed words. He blinked at the older man, not comprehending. “Do what?”

If they had not been so close, if the two of them had not been breathing each other’s air and only a heartbeat away from pressing their lips together in a hesitant kiss, Byleth might have missed the wince that Seteth tried to hide. 

His hand fell in slow-motion toward his lap.

“Do what?”

With a sigh, Seteth pulled away, leaving Byleth floating alone in uncertainty. Byleth had never seen him so hesitant before. Seteth faced everything head-on with unflappable grace, and whatever his expression was now? It wasn’t that.

“Did I…” Uncertainty was also, apparently, contagious; at least, he was sure that was what most people called the fluttering fear in his chest. Seteth wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. No, Byleth, you’ve done nothing wrong. It is… It is my own fault, I’m afraid.”

"I don't understand." Confusion mingled with hurt inside of him, and Byleth pulled away. He must be the problem, whatever Seteth said. "If I didn't do anything wrong, then it must be something else. Is it because of the church?"

Seteth snorted. "Goddess above, no."

"Then is it the school? Is it because I'm young?"

"Byleth, no—"

"Then what? What is it?" Desperation drove him now. He had to know. Maybe if he did, he’d also know how to fix this. "Do you... Do you not want me?"

"Oh Byleth..." Seteth sighed, the weight of a century's weariness behind it. "If only you knew—"

"I would  _ know  _ if you  _ told me." _ Byleth had rarely felt anything like fear, especially when off-mission, but the need to run rang like an alarm in his chest, shrill, unmistakable. He could feel Sothis's urging in his mind, a pressure strange and insistent, but he pushed it aside and stood. His chair clattered to the floor behind him. "Never mind. Forget I sai—”

“Byleth, please.” Seteth’s plaintive call stopped him short, but it was the hand wrapped around his wrist that held him in place. “I am sorry. Let me explain.” Byleth, breath catching, nodded. 

Seteth released him and sighed; one of his long-fingered hands found his hair. “Did I…?” he began, then shook his head. “No; I know I have not spoken about my past often. I should tell you, I had a— I was married, once,” he said finally. “To a lovely woman. She was my everything.”

A weight had settled in Byleth’s lungs to roost, but now it took flight, winging away and taking all of his tension with it. Relief and understanding filled the space where it had been.

“You still love her.”

“I do.” Seteth turned away. “Even now, all those years without her, I still… I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t!” Byleth reached for him, cupping his face in his hands. Seteth gasped at the contact, but didn’t pull away. “Don’t be sorry. Seteth, you should never be sorry for loving another person.” 

Byleth knelt before him; Seteth followed the movement with a sharp breath. He must have startled him. Byleth murmured an apology before he continued, his thumbs tracing the frown lines by Seteth’s open mouth.

“This is new to me— this feeling,” he said, voice soft-unsure-halting. “I didn’t even realize what it was, and now that I have it I don’t know what to do with it. I’m still trying to understand.” Byleth met his eyes again. “But I would never try to replace someone important to you. That isn’t what I want.”

Seteth’s gaze softened. “Then,” he asked gently, “what  _ do  _ you want?”

Byleth considered a moment. “I want to be near you,” he answered. “I want to know you better, to spend time together, just like this. I… I think I want to kiss you, but—”

Seteth laughed, a welcome sound that startled Byleth and sent a shuddering thrill down his entire body. “I appreciate your candor, Professor,” he said. When he looked up, Seteth met his eyes with something akin to shyness; Byleth had seen it on the faces of his students, blushing and making furtive glances at one another when they thought the object of their affections wasn’t looking. “I… I think I might like that, too,” Seteth said, “given enough time to consider it.”

“Oh.” A rush of dizzying heat flooded Byleth’s face. He wavered on his knees, pleased. “Then you will? Consider it?”

“I do… feel something for you,” Seteth said in answer. “In fact, I... I should apologize.”

“Why?”

“For thinking of you as one to fill a role, and not as yourself.” He laid his hands over Byleth’s, holding them against his face and closing his eyes. “I see now how selfishly ignorant that was. You are your own person.” Seteth chuckled, then, his smile returning. “It seems I have forgotten much of the heart and its mysteries, in my old age.”

“You’re not that old,” Byleth answered, and Seteth laughed again. It sounded like music.

“Yes, well…”

“Seteth.” He opened his eyes to look at Byleth, eyes inquiring. “Do you… do you think it’s possible to love two people at once? I’ll wait, I mean, if that’s what you need,” Byleth added quickly. “I was just wondering, if it’s possible to care for many friends, then it could be—”

Seteth brushed Byleth’s hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear with a tenderness that made Byleth’s breath hitch. 

“I think,” he said softly, pressing his lips to Byleth’s forehead, “it is absolutely possible.”

“Oh,” and Byleth leaned into the touch, embracing the new hope it brought fluttering to his chest. “Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As always, feel free to find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/imagymnasia), or check out my other works here on ao3.


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